


girl with the golden touch

by the_other_lutece_sister



Series: propunk one-shots [12]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Narcissism, Smut, plus rachel being gay for her own self as usual, propunk - Freeform, propunk gold au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: Sarah signs the contract. She visits Rachel's apartment for the first time, OR "oh, what if I rewrite the terribly awkward Rachel/Paul sex scene from S.2 and make it propunk?" (set in the propunk gold AU which includes 'down on the golden floor' and 'gold won't ever comfort me')





	girl with the golden touch

**Author's Note:**

> soundtrack - Mozart Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor

Sarah Manning was nervous. She had to admit it to herself, she was nervous. Being _invited_ to Rachel Duncan's secret lair? Well, okay, her _apartment_ but still. Sarah got the definite feeling this was an invitation extended to a select few. She’d heard whispers. Around. Rachel Duncan had monitors, just like the rest of the clones, the difference being - Rachel knew.

And the monitors were not only monitors, but bodyguards, personal assistants, suffering the indignity of being ordered around by their subject, with a smile.

The other thing about Rachel Duncan’s monitors was this - once they ceased being her monitor (for whatever reason), they were never seen in DYAD again. This had led to the whispers of Rachel’s apartment containing a Bluebeard-like chamber of horrors. But in all honesty, Sarah just couldn’t see Rachel as the type to collect corpses. The mess, for one thing. The smell, for another. Much more likely she just had the poor sods banished to Siberia, or wherever the least-influential and important branch of the DYAD group was.

So. That’s not why she was nervous. Although. The current monitor, Daniel - oh, he _hated_ Sarah. He was unfailingly polite in Rachel’s presence, but his eyes were the coldest blue she’d ever seen and she would catch him looking at her sometimes. Sometimes it was the same way Rachel looked at her. She suspected with him, it was partly jealousy, partly distrust, partly disapproval of the...relationship...she and Rachel had.

Whatever _that_ was.

She hoped like hell he wouldn’t be around tonight.

Somehow Sarah herself had still escaped being assigned a monitor. This was definitely Rachel’s doing. As long as Sarah came into DYAD for regular testing and incredibly boring questionnaires, she was allowed her freedom. More or less.

Maybe she should never have signed that contract.

But, Kira. She kept telling herself - this was all for Kira. She took a breath and entered the building.

 

The young man at the concierge desk looked up at her, blinked, recovered, and walked forward.

“Ms Manning? Ms Duncan is expecting you.” He handed her a card, escorted her to the lift and pushed the floor button for her. “Just knock and enter.” He checked his watch, face managing to convey he was happy not to be in Sarah’s shoes right now. “She does hate to be kept waiting,” His voice was sympathetic.

“Thanks. Troy, right?” Sarah was fairly law-abiding these days, but she still knew how to find stuff out.

A surprised smile flicked over Troy’s face.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

Sarah gave him a grin.

“Call me Sarah, mate. We’re not all like - “ she cut herself short and pointed upwards instead, winking as the elevator doors closed. She turned the card in her fingers, tapped it against her palm. She’d dealt with money before and it _always_ paid to get the staff on side. Leaning back against the brushed steel of the wall, she kicked a boot back and forth, thinking about the last time she had seen Rachel Duncan.

She swore she could still feel the teeth marks.

Once out of the lift, the hush filled her ears. Thick carpet muffled her steps and she trailed her fingers over the textured wallpaper. Then she couldn’t put it off any longer, swallowed on a suddenly dry throat, and knocked at the door.

  
  


Rachel looked at herself in the mirror. One of the mirrors. Her makeup was flawless. Her face was perfect. Her slip was silk and dove-grey and the lace contoured her breasts and thighs. She ran a hand down her ribcage, then back up again, never taking her eyes off herself. Why would she?

She heard the knock at the door, then the door opened hesitantly, and boots scuffed on the floor.

“Hello?” she heard Sarah’s voice, the nervousness beneath the bravado, and her lips curved slightly. She answered languidly over the background of Mozart.

“Come in, Sarah,” she leaned forward, examined her lipstick again. “The lounge is ahead to your left.” She was probably gasping for a cheap bourbon by now. Rachel would have to educate her palate somewhat. Continuing her self-examination, she could hear Sarah’s boots cross the floor, what sounded like a leather jacket hitting the sofa, then Sarah making a whistling sound at the view. She met her own eyes in the mirror and gave the smallest sigh, running her hands down the walls on either side, wrists bared to the smooth, cool tiles, then ran her fingers over the row of bottles on the marble bench top and chose one.

Dabbing the perfume on her throat, she blinked slowly, then barely raised her voice.

 

“Sarah.”

“Yeah?” The voice echoed against the glass. Still at the windows.

“63 Margaux, two glasses.” Rachel could hear muttering but not loud enough to make out the words. The insolent tone was clear, however. There was the sound of wine being poured into a glass, then silence. Then the sound of Sarah.

“Oi, got any bourbon?”

Rachel gazed upwards for a moment as the sound of cupboards being flung open and banged shut reached her.

“ _No_.” she said emphatically. The noises ceased, then the second glass was filled. Rachel could hear the resentment in the way the bottle knocked against the crystal, then almost dropped back onto the bar..

Rachel moved into the bedroom, flicking open a compact, heels clicking on the hardwood. Standing in front of the ceiling-to-floor windows, she peered into the tiny round mirror, smoothing a brush around the outline of her lips, then snapped it shut. She sauntered over to the full-length mirror on the wall, running a silver-tipped finger down the side of her own reflection. Tilting her head, she perused the entire length of herself.

Her body was flawless. Her skin was smooth. She was perfect. Her hand slid down her ribcage again but dipped below her stomach this time. Her fingers grazed her thighs, dragged the lace hem of her slip up slightly, exposing more. Her breath caught slightly. She reluctantly took her hand away from herself, and sauntered out of the bedroom.

Sarah was staring moodily out of the windows, arms folded, slouching. She caught Rachel’s reflection and straightened up, turning, mouth open as if about to say something. Her mouth stayed open as she took in Rachel, dark-rimmed eyes wide under raised eyebrows as they swept all the way down from the immaculate blonde bob to the luxurious leather heels, and back up again. She bit her bottom lip and swallowed whatever it was she had been about to say and took a step towards her, stopped again at Rachel’s voice.

“The _wine_ , Sarah.” She watched as Sarah’s face tightened. Then she rolled her eyes and turned with an exaggerated sigh to pick up the glasses, handing one to Rachel and lifting her own to her mouth, screwing her nose up at the smell.

Before she could taste it, Rachel ordered,

“Put that down.”

Sarah hesitated, then took a long pull from the glass, eyes boring into Rachel’s over the rim. Then she put the glass down, making a disgusted face.

“Tastes like shite anyway,” she muttered, and smirked.

Rachel calmly took a sip from her own glass, rolling the liquid around her mouth, savouring the flavours before swallowing. So, it seemed that Sarah couldn’t be pushed very far at all before she pushed back. They would have to _do_ something about that. She tipped her head to the side, regarding the brunette. Identical faces, and yet polar opposites. God, she _itched_ sometimes to scrub Sarah clean and start again, show her what she _could_ be. Occasionally she would lie in bed, thinking about Sarah with her hair cut, tamed, dyed, her face made up properly, her body slotted into one of Rachel’s dresses.

Like a mirror, only real.

Her stomach tightened at the thought and she glided forwards until she was just a few inches away from Sarah, who had shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and was watching Rachel like she was debating whether to kiss her or punch her.

Rachel took another small sip of wine, reached out a finger and traced Sarah’s collarbone with a silver nail, before dragging the finger down the front of her shirt. Some hideous blue-black thing with artful holes.

“Take this off,” she said, seeing Sarah’s eyes battle between the urge to argue for the sake of it, and the rise of lust that had her shifting from one leg to the other, and her pupils blooming. Then her eyes dropped, and she pulled the top off. The skin above her breasts was slightly flushed. The black bra was one of those strappy things that pushed up and Rachel let her gaze linger for a moment and she could almost see the confidence that Sarah had lost hold of come back in force. This was sex. Sarah Manning was _good_ at sex. Sarah Manning could _use_ that.

It almost made Rachel laugh.

She walked in a tight circle around Sarah, fingers light along her skin, silver nails leaving the occasional fading red trail. She could feel the jittering coming up from the feet. Sarah moved as if to turn and Rachel dug her nails into a shoulder blade, hissing -

“Don’t. Move.”

Sarah froze, swallowed. Her head was still turned slightly, though, the profile of her face the same as Rachel’s. Rachel ran her eyes along it lovingly before sipping her wine and slipping a hand under the belt of Sarah’s jeans. Surprisingly good leather. Probably stolen. She leaned forward, barely millimetres away from skin, breathing on the back of her neck, feeling her shift on her feet again, thighs rubbing together. She tugged on the belt. Sarah swayed slightly.

“Take off your pants,” she murmured, and took a step back.

Sarah swiftly unbuckled the belt, ripped the zipper open and shimmied the jeans down over her hips, revealing plain black knickers. At least _these_ didn’t have holes in them.

She was breathing slightly faster now. Rachel could see in the way her body moved that she was desperate for full contact. Her lips turned upwards a little as she lifted the glass and sipped.

Then she set the glass down, and walked around so she was facing Sarah again, letting her gaze sweep up and down the other woman’s body, noting the differences and similarities. The eyes full of impatient lust. The way she shifted constantly. She really needed to learn how to be _still_.

Well. There was time for all that. But for now - she opened the silk wrap wide, exposing her form and drinking in the look on Sarah’s face. The _want_.

Rachel snaked out a hand and lightly grasped Sarah’s throat, moving her head back and forth, placing a thumb against her lower lip. Sarah obligingly opened her mouth a little, then closed it around Rachel’s thumb, her tongue circling it briefly before Rachel used it to pull Sarah’s mouth to her own, hand moving back down the neck as they kissed, a low _mmm_ coming from the brunette’s throat. Rachel’s other hand danced lightly down Sarah’s ribcage, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Their bodies were still a fraction apart and as the kiss broke, Sarah stepped forward, reaching out to grasp Rachel by the hips and pull her back for more.

Rachel stepped back sharply and gently slapped her.

The crack was surprisingly loud in the quiet of the apartment.

“You bitch!” Sarah said, hand to her face. It had barely stung, but… “What, is this what _Daniel_ likes?”

Rachel’s nostrils flared. At least Daniel knew to never lay hands on her. The very _idea_.

“Did _you_?” she challenged.

“Fuck off,” spat Sarah, still not moving away. Rachel looked evenly at her. Then pointed.

“Get that chair.”

Sarah’s jaw muscles moved. Then she stalked across the room, picked up the chair, and slammed it back on the floor in front of Rachel, who hadn’t taken her eyes off her, hand moving over the silk fabric on her body, cupping a breast, then moving down again as Sarah did exactly as she was told. Her other hand grasped Sarah by a shoulder, turned her so she was facing the windows, and brought her lips to skin, pushing the mass of hair aside to gently kiss the nape of the neck, then she nipped her way up the side of the throat, finally biting down on the earlobe. She cried out, but leaned into Rachel’s teeth. Their eyes met in the reflection, briefly, before Sarah’s gaze slid away, and Rachel was left staring at herself. She smiled and slid her hand down the front of Sarah’s knickers.

It was fascinating, really, all the subtle little differences.

The way Sarah moved under her fingers, the sounds she made, how wet she got and how quickly, how her face exposed her. Her mouth open, her eyes squeezed shut, with Rachel pressed up against her back now, still watching her in the window, waiting until the movements quickened and she was gasping.

Then, she removed her hand and smartly stepped away.

Sarah stumbled backwards a little, caught her footing, and turned. Her hands twitched as if they wanted to reach out, but stayed at her sides. Rachel tilted her head, smiled a little.

“Sit down.” Her voice purred. Sarah shifted from foot to foot, bit her lip, and dropped into the chair, wriggling a little at the contact. Rachel sighed, idly touching herself through the silk.

“Such an _animal_ , Sarah. You could stand to learn a _little_ patience.”

“Bugger that,” Sarah muttered. She gripped the sides of the chair with her hands, as if unable to trust herself with them. Rachel stepped closer, then over, lowering herself so she was straddling Sarah’s lap. She had a perfect view of herself in the windows - the lighting and furniture placement made sure of that. She reached down and laid one hand over Sarah’s, peeling it away from the seat and bringing it up to her mouth. Not breaking eye contact, she ran her tongue along the fingers, then brought them between her thighs. Sarah hesitated for a second, then ran them back and forth, feeling Rachel’s wetness, back and forth, back and forth, until Rachel hissed impatiently and pulled Sarah’s wrist towards her.

Sarah’s fingers sank into her and Rachel raised her head, closed her eyes, and savoured the sensation. So like her own fingers, but so foreign, so _rough_. She moved her hips, seeking the rhythm that would...ah. There.

Her eyes opened again and she gazed at herself, a mirror-ghost in the glass, light catching her hair, red lips open and gasping. She was perfect. She was perfect. She was perfect. She was -

\-  coming.

Her fingernails dug into Sarah’s shoulders, silver sinking into flesh and leaving rows of half-moons, and she could hear the other woman groan faintly under her. Then her palms flattened against Sarah’s forearms and she pushed firmly until the fingers slid out of her and Sarah was cradling her wrist with an expression that was half scowl, and all frustrated arousal.

Rachel stood up, leisurely, standing elegantly on her heels, and picked up the wine glass. She drank, eyes still on the window, put it down again, and headed towards the shower.

 

“Get dressed, Sarah. You can see yourself out.” She threw the words over her shoulder.

  
  


Sarah sat, stunned, then stood, kicked the chair, hard enough to make it scrape against the floorboards. What the hell was all that? Rachel bloody Duncan and her bloody apartment straight out of Cold Bitch Digest. Sarah snorted, grabbing her jeans and top and throwing them on. Chewing on her bottom lip, she spotted the wine and lifted the bottle to her lips, trying to ignore the taste and gulping it out of spite. Then she tipped the rest down the sink. It was probably some real expensive shite, too. She pulled on her jacket, and her boots, kicked the sofa, the wall, and the front door for good measure.

After slamming the door behind her, she leaned back against it and closed her eyes. She could still smell Rachel all over her hands. And her knickers were soaked.

_dammit_

She checked that no other doors had an eyeline to this one, then hurriedly slipped her hand down her pants. She came faster than she ever had before, pressing her lips together to keep herself from moaning out loud. When she got her breath back, she gingerly dug into her jacket pockets until she found some old, unused napkins, and wiped her hands, ran her fingers through her hair and headed for the elevator.

When she got out at the lobby, Troy was still there. She couldn’t quite meet his eye now, just mumbled good night and pushed her way out the doors, feeling grateful for the dark, cold night air.

**Author's Note:**

> ‘I know a girl with the golden touch  
> She's got enough, she's got too much  
> But I know, you wouldn't mind  
> You could have it all if you wanted  
> You could have it all if it mattered so much’  
> Golden touch by razorlight
> 
> * obviously this is THE SNIPER SCENE as well, but in this AU, it is...not. I hurridly headcanoned that Helena isn't around at this point because she actually got adopted by a lovely Ukranian couple and has had a Good Time in life, and will eventually travel to find her biological family and everything will be great! haha!


End file.
